


I'm Paralyzed by Neuropathy, Wake me Up Please.

by Delightful_Daughter_of_Dionysus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is a good brother if you don't count the incest, Depressed Sam Winchester, Depression, Good Significant Other Dean Winchester, Incest, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delightful_Daughter_of_Dionysus/pseuds/Delightful_Daughter_of_Dionysus
Summary: Sammy's depressed. Luckily his big brother knows him well enough to tenderly yank him out of it."He thinks if he could feel right now, he’d feel pretty damn awed by how well his brother knows him. To see the signs before even Sam could. He’d feel grateful too. He knows Dean will make him feel again."
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	I'm Paralyzed by Neuropathy, Wake me Up Please.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Darlings. I was kinda numb yesterday so I made Sammy numb too. He feels better now, and so do I. 
> 
> I had to go through and make sure the verb tenses were consistent after I finished because I was constantly switching between 'past' and 'present'. I chose 'present' but wasn't really sure which one worked best. If you have an opinion/preference on the matter, please let me know in the comments. It's not really something I've thought about before now, and I couldn't tell you which one I prefer, so I am going to start paying attention to tenses when I read. 
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoy it and love you all.

It’s getting bad again. Dean can tell. When he looks around, nothing seems different or off, that is, except for Sam. There isn’t one big sign that he’s spiraling, just a small, subtle collection of abnormal shit that no one but Dean would be able to pick up on. They aren’t being hidden, so Sam doesn’t even know yet. _They_ are behaviors (Dean usually refers to them as symptoms).

Sam’s gone quiet. Not silent, hell, he probably even says the same amount of words. But they come out slower, and always after a long pause. He’s got to force them out, and they ooze out of his throat like syrup. He says just as much as always, but Dean can tell, he’d rather be mute. He will be, soon enough.

Sam’s gone soft. Pliant where he’s normally firm as metal. Dean will say, “Go put the bags in the car”, and Sam will pause. Swallow. Say real slow like, “Kay”, and he’ll just go put the bags in the car. No argument, no witty quip meant to bite at Dean’s heels, just subdued agreement. Dean knows he doesn’t have the energy for anything more. Dean can tell, he’d rather be sleeping. He will be soon enough.

Sam’s gone slow. Not just his words, his movements too. Sometimes he’s hyper-aware of his every move. Hand closes around coffee-mug. Hand brings mug to mouth. Coffee’s hot. Swallow. Hand puts mug on ugly red table with uneven legs. Sometimes he’s obviously somewhere else. Dean doesn’t know where he goes, when he zones out. Sam’s said in the past that he doesn’t know either, but wherever it is, it’s dull and dim and washed out in faded gray and blue tones. Sometimes Dean will snap his fingers in Sam’s face a few times. His brother’s chin will turn real slow like. A few seconds later, just long enough to be unsettling, his eyes will focus, and Sam will be back. “Yeah, uh, what’s up?” Anyone else wouldn’t look twice, but Dean can tell, Sam would rather be curled up in the backseat of the Impala, fetal style. He will be soon enough.

Dean’s been counting the days since he noticed it happening. Today makes six, and his brother’s currently forcing himself to chew a blueberry pancake (“Only a head case like you would choose blueberries over chocolate chips, Sammy.”). Dean knows he probably can’t even taste it. “This is great, De,” Sam says slowly, softly. A smile appears a half-second too late, and it doesn’t touch Sam’s eyes. Dean stands, grabs Sam’s hand, and takes the fork from him. He leads him outside and ignores the confused questions. “Dean, what are you-?” and so forth. He plops down on the curb and doesn’t let go so Sam can either sit on his own or be made to. After Sam’s got his ass on the cement, Dean swings himself over his brother’s legs and undoes his shoes, just like he did when the kid got home from kindergarten every day. (“You want me to teach you how to do it yourself, Sammy?” “No, you can keep doing it for a while, right?” “Yeah, sure, kid.”) Sam’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t argue, hasn’t for six days now. Dean takes his socks too. He digs up some dirt and grass and rubs it on Sammy’s feet.

Realization hits Sam like a brick, Dean sees it happen. All that comes out of him is a startled, “Oh, I, I’m falling.” “Yeah, don’t worry little brother, I’m here. I’ll catch ya,” Dean says, and rubs more dirt on Sam’s feet. He grabs Sam’s hands and rubs it there too. Between his fingers, up his wrists, over his pulse. He digs his thumb into the vein there. “Can you feel it, Sammy? Can you feel your heart? It’s beating in there you know.” Sam knows, logically, that it is, but he stares at Dean with rapt attention anyway. Listens. “Feel the dirt on your skin. It’s cold huh? Feel my hands on you. Feel the sun. Look at it.”

Sam looks. It’s too bright. His face scrunches up. He looks back at Dean but his big brother turns his face back up into the light. “Look.” Sam stares into the sun until tears run down his cheeks, and until his eyes ache, and then a bit longer because Dean wants him to. When he’s forced to close his eyes by the sheer glory in the sky, colored spots dance across the insides of his eyelids. “See the light, Sam. Isn’t it beautiful?” Sam nods his head and focuses on the points of contact where his brother’s fingers are still gripping his chin.

His eyes are still closed when he is suddenly pulled upright by those familiar arms, and herded back into the motel room. He opens them, and notices how it takes him a few seconds longer than usual to do so. He thinks if he could feel right now, he’d feel pretty damn awed by how well his brother knows him. To see the signs before even Sam could. He’d feel grateful too. He knows Dean will make him feel again.

Dean leads his boy into the bathroom, and puts his nose to the wall. Decorated with obnoxiously red, peeling wallpaper. “Smell that, Sam? What is it?” Sam inhales. Takes a moment to work the words up his throat and past his teeth. “Dust. It smells dusty.” Dean keeps him there with a warm hand on the back of his neck, just breathing in the dust, until he sneezes. It wracks his whole body, even makes his chest ache a bit, and Sam does feel something then, a smile somewhere in his torso. It’s there, even if it doesn’t quite make it to his face. His big brother is certainly creative, in the ways he wakes up Sam’s body, lovingly yanks it from its slumber with cold dirt, sneezes, and sunlight.

He’s put in the shower next, and Dean cranks the handle all the way to the ‘C’. Sam knows it’s coming, he’s been here enough times to know, but his body never can manage to prepare itself for the shock to its system. The cold makes him flinch, full-body shudders run through him. His teeth are bared and his fists are clenched. He has no choice but to feel. Dean makes sure of it. “Feel it, Sam. Not just the cold. Feel your nails biting into your palms. Feel your girly hair sticking to your face. Feel your muscles, tensed and upset. They feel it. Your body knows how to react, Sam, can’t do anything but. You gotta too. You’re cold. Alive and cold. Feel it.” Dean’s fingers tighten around his neck, and then he has to feel them too. Fingers like furnaces against the rest of him. Pitiful and shaking and freezing.

He… he just felt something. About himself. That he was a miserable little creature who doesn’t deserve Dean’s tenderness and warmth. He can’t stop now. His thoughts tell him he’s a burden, taking up Dean’s time and making him do crazy things to help his crazy brother. But, his thoughts make him feel things too. Sadness and shame, mostly. But anything is better than the numbness. The empty that he was before. He doesn’t know whether to jump for joy because _it’s working_ , or to throw himself into his brothers’ arms and beg forgiveness for being such a waste of space. He doesn’t know what to do. Just like when shoved into freezing cold water, his body makes his decision for him and reacts. He’s overwhelmed by emotion, so suddenly it shocks him just as efficiently as the cold shower, and so, he cries. This time it’s not just a natural reaction to staring at the sun, this time he is actually, really feeling something. Something terrible and painful, but still.

Dean watches it happen. Sees the feeling crash down on Sammy. Sam cringes into the corner of the shower, well, as into the corner as his big ol’ moose-body can get. Dean isn’t having it. He pulls his baby brother into his arms and sits them down right there on the bathroom floor as gently as possible. He grabs a threadbare towel and starts drying Sammy’s hair first. He ruffles it thoroughly, in the way that always makes Sammy grumble and whine, when he’s himself that is. Sam smile-grimaces, and Dean kisses it. And then he kisses each dimple that sprouts after.

Normally he’d lick up the tears, but now he swoops both thumbs over Sammy’s cheekbones instead. Sweet instead of sexy. He can do that, it’s what Sammy needs. He takes his time drying his brother’s body and kisses all the extra soft, extra-sensitive parts of him along the way. Collar bone. Armpit. Elbow. Between thumb and forefinger. Where hip meets groin. Insides of thighs. Back of knees. Arches of feet. “Feel me, Sammy. It’s alright, I’ve got you. You can feel it, nothing bad is gonna happen.”

Sam was still crying a bit, but he felt… okay. Okay was fucking amazing considering how long he’s been numb. He doesn’t even know how long. Dean will have an idea. He’ll ask him later.

Right now he’s content to sit here with his big brother and bask in how damn good it is to _feel_ again.


End file.
